


Coping For An Age

by wakandan_wardog



Series: Mechanics, Millionaires, Models & More [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I'm probably forgetting something, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Bruce Wayne, Kid Tony Stark, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), No Romance, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: The boys handle things they should never have to deal with, much less at the age they have to deal with them. Some things go better than others...





	1. Eight

Bruce Wayne is eight years old when he is orphaned. 

The evening starts out as a pleasant one, a family night out with dinner and a movie at the theater. The only downside is that Tony isn’t with them. Tony is somewhere in California, possibly dodging Howard’s fists, possibly creating a super-computer or robot butler to assist him when he builds things. Bruce isn’t sure, just knows that he misses his best friend like a limb, like a brother he never got to have. His parents are understanding and sympathetic, promising to take them both to the theater the next time Tony visits. Still, dinner helps, Bruce grinning and watching his mother blush as his father presents her with a new pearl necklace. She tears up when he puts it on, but kisses him soundly before letting him return to his seat. Bruce laughs at them both, so glad that they’re here, that they love each other so much, that they love him. 

He wishes Tony was here for this too, wishes Tony got some semblance of a family. Some time with loving parents, with soft voices and a gentle hand on the shoulder to let him know he did well. Tony doesn’t get that, in his house, he confided to Bruce about it. Tony gets the reassurance of silence which means he’s alone, or the ominous threat of his father’s distant shouting. Shouting means something hasn’t gone as well as Howard hoped, that he’s been drinking, that he’ll swing at anything in his path. Tony tells Bruce not to worry, that he knows to hide when his father is in that sort of mood. 

But he’s not here, Bruce is alone, so he resolves as ever to pay attention to every little thing, to soak up every moment, so he can tell Tony about it later. Maybe the full force of Bruce’s memory of something good will overshadow Tony’s memory of something bad. 

Knowing Tony, he’ll want to know the color of the pearls, if there are candles on the table, if Martha Wayne laughs into a glass of white wine as her husband toasts her. Will want to know if she pats fondly at the pearls, settling them comfortably into the neckline of her gown before she pulls her fur coat around her. Tony will want to know what they ate for dinner, what movie they saw, if they had popcorn with enough butter or not, if Bruce thinks the film is good enough to see it a second time once Tony’s back in town. 

Bruce focuses on every element he can, on how the crowd laughs as they exit the theater, his father holding his mother’s hand, his mother walking with her arm wrapped around Bruce’s shoulders. How it feels to be tucked against soft fur in the cool night, just a hint of rain on the wind. How Gotham is dramatic and mysterious by night, lit up by softly glowing orbs but otherwise wrapped in shadow. Tony always says that nowhere is like Gotham. Bruce breathes in every element he can, storing it away so he can write it all down, send Tony a letter to help him pass the time in Malibu. 

But… 

He wishes now that he hadn’t. Wishes he could forget the fear that bolts up his spine when the gunman steps out of the alley. Wishes he knew what to do other than drop his bag of popcorn, stand stock-still and frozen in fear. Wishes he could unhear his mother’s scream, his father’s low words of panic as he promises to hand over anything the man wants. Anything, just don’t harm his family. 

Bruce wishes he could forget what it’s like to have his parent’s murdered before his very eyes. 

They take him to the police station and question him, over and over, until dawn has come and Alfred is finally allowed to take him home. Home to an empty mansion, his mansion, the only Wayne remaining. On the one hand he’s glad Tony’s in Malibu, away from all of this, from a gun held to his face and the death of Bruce’s parents. 

But now Bruce is alone, and all he wants is his best friend to come home. 

Bruce is eight years old, and he’s an orphan. 

*

Howard Stark refuses to let Tony return to the boarding school for days, argues that they’re not challenging his son enough. He needs Tony to move onto bigger and better things, more prestigious things, no matter how convenient it is to get him out from under foot. Maria convinces him to let it be for now, to think it over. Still, the Wayne Funeral is an event that he and Maria cannot afford to miss, so they return to New York, put on their best mourning clothing and they attend. 

Tony goes home with Bruce, claiming he needs to pack up things from Wayne Manor before he packs up his dorm. He’s still hoping his father will change his mind about school once he has a chance to actually think about it. Tony doesn’t have to pack anything, of course, there’s nothing left at Wayne Manor that Bruce couldn’t mail him, if he wanted it. But Howard lets him, lets him leave in the limo with Alfred and Bruce. 

Their drive to Wayne Manor is quiet with grief. Upon arrival it is Tony that -without a word to Alfred- takes Bruce by the elbow and ushers him up the stairs to his room. Once there he makes Bruce change out of the suit and tie and shoes he wore to bury his parents. It’s Tony that makes his friend put on comfortable pajamas, ushers him into bed, promises to return. 

Tony grabs some of Bruce’s cast offs and darts into the bathroom to change. Knowing he’ll have to put it all back on in the morning he hangs up his suit and tie, and ducks out into the hallway to look pleadingly at Alfred. The Butler is standing there nervously, wringing his hands with an expression of great sorrow on his face, but some of his tension eases when he sees Tony. 

“I will plan for a late dinner, if that suits?” He murmurs gently. 

“Maybe just sandwiches we can grab whenever?” Tony suggests with a faint smile. “That’ll be fine, Alfred.” 

“Do take care of him, Master Tony.” 

“Will do, Alfred.” 

*

Tony shuffles back into Bruce’s room without a word, slinking to his best friend’s bedside. For his part, Bruce has rolled away from the center of the bed, face buried in his pillow to contain the sound of his sobs. Tony gives a faint shrug and climbs in after him, pressing his back into the other boy’s until they’re aligned from shoulders to hips. It’s become their tradition, in some strange way. 

“I’m here, Bruce…” He murmurs. “I’m here.” 

Bruce makes no reply, but the pressure against Tony’s spine increases as the other boy leans back. They stay like that for hours, back to back, as Bruce’s shoulders shake with sobs that eventually release into deep the deep, rhythmic breaths of sleep. 

“I’m here, Bruce…” 

Tony Stark does not abandon his friends.


	2. Seventeen

They spend their three years together, they move apart. Tony bounces from school to school for awhile and then dives into University, finally finding coursework that comes close to challenging him. He calls Bruce everyday, even if he hasn't slept or eaten or taken a shower, because Bruce is a constant in his life... The only one he needs, some days. Still, he makes some new friends, has new experiences, and then goes back to his dorm with Rhodey and closes himself away, and calls Bruce. 

They talk about everything, but Tony never tells Bruce that he wished, that first night and in several that followed, that it had been his parents instead. His parents, instead of the kindly Waynes, who were held at gunpoint. Better the Starks than the Thomas and Martha Wayne, who had always had time for him, been glad to see him, welcomed him into their home. The loving couple who had become like a foster family to him, decent and warm and welcoming, only to be ripped away.

Privately, Tony thinks that maybe, maybe he was never supposed to have a family. But he’s so, so thankful for Bruce. 

So thankful that he calls him every day, texts him funny things and serious things and everything in between. Keeps Bruce in his life, at the center of his life, no matter the distance between them. Because he's so thankful that, with everything else he's lost and broken, he's gotten to keep Bruce this long. 

So no, Tony Stark never says that he wishes it were his parent instead... but he thinks Bruce knows.

Bruce probably wishes it too. Tony wouldn't begrudge him that. 

*

Tony Stark graduates MIT at the age of seventeen, top of his class, Summa Cum Laude. His parents don’t bother to attend, but his best friend Bruce Wayne is front and center, whistling sharply in approval. Bruce is easy to pick out of the crowd, his suit costing as much as most people's cars, his charcoal tie matching the platinum-rimmed sunglasses on his handsome face. Rhodey, Tony’s roommate throughout college a new sort of friend and brother and caretaker all in one, side-eyes Bruce the entire ceremony, distrust in his dark gaze. 

When the entire graduating class is finally released to throw their caps and find their family, Tony ignores them all. He keeps his cap perched on his head and instead bolts to Bruce’s side, unhampered by the numerous cowls, sashes, and chords he’s wearing. Bruce has stepped out of the majority of the throng, shadowed by an older gentleman in a somber black suit. The pair stand at a slight distance from each other as well, as though Bruce were anticipating the greeting he's about to get.

Tony knows Bruce better than anyone, even himself, most days. As soon as he sees that Alfred is clear he throws himself at Bruce in a flying leap, and without effort Bruce catches him, fifteen extra pounds of academic achievement and all. Alfred watches from a short distance, taking pictures and smiling at them fondly. Rhodey –as he fights through the crowd to get to his wayward roommate- cannot believe this, except for how he totally can. It’s Tony Stark all over, after all. 

“Oooof! Damn, Tony! I think you’re wearing literally anything you could possibly achieve.” Bruce murmurs warmly as Alfred chuckles behind them. “Was there a single thing you didn’t do?”

“Don’t be so sulky, Brucie, I only went for six doctorates.” Tony murmurs with a wide grin, leaning back when his feet touch the ground but keeping both hands gripped over Bruce’s shoulders. Holding onto his best friend for long minutes, regardless of the crowd around them. “And of course I was the top of _everything_. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Dr. Stark unless we’re in the board room.” 

“You’re the same pain in the ass as always.” Bruce grinned, pulling Tony into his side and leaving an arm slung around his shoulder. “You look good, Tones, I’m glad.” 

“Awww Thin Mint, you did miss me!” Tony coos up at him, but his brown eyes are bright with mirth. 

In the background Alfred raises his camera, taking another picture. James Rhodes eventually works his way through the crowd with a liberal application of glaring and elbows, stopping at the edge of their group with a frown. He folds his muscular arms over his chest and levels a glare at the still-clinging duo, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. 

Bruce can feel the other man approaching before he even makes it through the crowd, but pretends not to notice the weight of the glare leveled at him. It's easier to focus on Tony, on how happy he is as he chirps all the news he seems to have forgotten to relay over the last few months of daily calls. Bruce wouldn't think there could possibly be so much, but there's no telling when the last time Tony actually believed his audience was listening, much less if they were intelligent enough to understand. With Bruce, it's never in doubt. So Bruce listens, patient and fond and intrigued in spite of himself, and waits for Tony's self-appointed watchdog to speak. 

“So, this is Wayne.” Rhodey murmurs, eyes narrowed as he tilts his head sideways. “Guess that means you’re not some random guy chasing him for his money.”

“Rhodey!” Tony gapes, scandalized. 

Bruce, for his part, throws his head back and laughs. “No, I’m not after this obnoxious little ass for his money. I’m stuck with him because he discovered my favorite hiding place during an excessively boring gala, and he sorta never left.”

“Your _favorite_?” Tony mutters in a tone that’s clearly audible. “It was under a _dining table_. A dining table, really, Brucie? Cupcake, I know you can do better than that.” 

Bruce ignores him, arctic eyes still fixed on the dark glint of Rhodes’s gaze, waiting. 

“My condolences.” Rhodey smiles, holding out one hand. “James Rhodes.”

Bruce steps forward, Tony still under his arm, to return the clasp. “Bruce Wayne.”

Rhodey shakes his hand firmly, but not in a crushing grip he’d considered employing when he figured this guy was just another chaser gunning for Tony’s funds and company. But no, Bruce Wayne has his own fortune to manage and the two of them seem more like partners than rivals. They’ve been friends since they were _six_ for all things holy. Maybe if Rhodey’s nice the guy will cough up some blackmail or embarrassing childhood stories. Or coping mechanisms. Rhodey would be glad of anything he could offer, really. 

“Heard quite a bit about you.” Rhodey admits, shaking his hand firmly and then letting go. “Any chance of embarrassing stories from his youth?”

“Stories?” Bruce grins, shark-like, as Tony makes soft sounds of despair. “Please. Alfred has pictures.” 

Behind them, Alfred coughs discreetly. “To the limo and dinner, young sirs? And then perhaps I might entertain Mr. Rhodes with a few of my favorite snapshots, should he be so inclined.”

Tony whined, spinning on the butler with pleading copper eyes. “Alfred, no!”

Rhodey and Bruce share a smirk. Bruce nods, Rhodey whoops. “Alfred, Yes!”

Tony wilts. “Maybe it was a mistake to introduce you after all.”

“Too late now, Tones! Man, wait until I tell Mama Rhodes. She’s gonna adopt herself another rich white boy.”

“Mama Rhodes?” Bruce tilts his head, arching a brow at Tony for an explanation.

“Rhodey’s mom didn’t think my parents were doing an adequate job, so she makes him haul me home one or two holidays a year so she can check on me. I go whenever I know you've got business plans, they're really nice. Once she finds out about you, I bet she’ll do the same.” 

“Oh, well…” Bruce shrugs faintly, smiling at Rhodes as they all trudge toward the limo. He can't help but think of a family Christmas, of what it's like to be surrounded by a a group that love you. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”


	3. Eighteen

Bruce is awoken from a dead sleep by a ringing phone at one am. Groping at his nightstand for a moment he succeeds in catching his cellphone, fumbling it to his ear without looking. “Wayne.” 

“Bruce.” Rhodey sounds exhausted and relieved. “Bruce, the news-” 

“Rhodes?” Bruce bolts upright, wide awake, and thrashes out of the tangle his unsettled sleep has made of the bedclothes. “What’s going on? What happened? Is Tony-” 

“Tony’s fine, he’s not hurt.” Rhodey rushes out, and even to Bruce’s sleep-addled brain it sounds a bit like one was a correction of the other. 

“What **happened** , Rhodes?” 

“His parents are dead, they say car crash, but it all seems a bit dirty.” Rhodey has a frantic air to his words, but he’s striving to keep the tone calm. “There was a party, and some new military designs, and Howard had a secret project. He wouldn’t tell Tony what it was, but Stane sure as hell knew… Listen, I don’t know if someone in SI arranged it but my gut says something’s wrong.” 

“Do you have Tony?” Bruce snarls, throwing blankets aside and leaping out of the bed. “Rhodes. Do you have Tony, and where the fuck are you?” 

“Listen he’s gonna be less than sober when he land but I’m on the Stark Jet with him and Happy.” Rhodey admits. “I’ve got him. We were in Boston for a seminar, and he wanted to crash in on you afterward anyway. Since they were in California when it happened, I don’t want him going back there. Not, not for a few days, you know? Can you meet us?” 

“Of course I fucking can.” Bruce can’t seem to help but snap, half way into trousers and a shirt. “You’ll all stay here.” 

“Happy will want to go to the Mansion and make sure things are secure.” Rhodey argues. “Which is fine, Tony’s always hated it there though… So, there will be a car waiting for Happy at the airport, the pilot will drop him off with us. But if you can get Alfred to come get me and Tony? I know you’re probably busy but, Bruce I’m gonna need a hand with him… I don’t want him flat-out drunk for the rest of his life because of this. And I don’t want the Paps to get him.” 

“He’s cut off now, tell him I said.” Bruce commands coolly, yanking the neckline of his sweater over his head. “Tell him, right now, Rhodes. Bruce’s Orders. If he argues, you give him the phone. You hear me, James? I want you to tell him right now.” 

“Tones?” Rhodey sighs. “Hey, Tones. Bruce says you’re cut off.” 

There’s a flurry of profanity and the sound of a thudding bottle, then silence. 

“Rhodes?” Bruce mutters, hopping up and down to put on one sock and shoe and then the other. “Rhodes?” 

In the background he can hear a slightly slurry Tony. “Huh, ‘whozat? … Rhodey, ‘sat Bruce on th’phone? Didja call Bruce?” 

“Yeah Tones, it’s Bruce.” Rhodey replies. “He’s in New York still, gonna pick us up at the airport.” 

“Gimme?” 

“You wanna talk to a slightly drunk billionaire?” Rhodey mumbles. 

“You’ve handled him on your own this long, it’s fine. Tag me in. Give him the phone.” Bruce murmurs, relief rushing through him as he grabs his wallet and throws his bedroom door open. 

Alfred is standing in the hall already, a house coat over his trousers and shirt, shoes on his feet. “Shall we, sir?” 

Bruce gestures him on ahead, listening to Rhodey wrangling Tony over the phone before he consents to let the brunet take the call. “Tones?” 

“Brucie?” Tony’s voice is wobbling and fragile, wrecked by whiskey and tears. “Brucie, ‘that you?” 

“Hey Tones.” Bruce projects his most soothing tone over the phone, half leaping down the stairs. “You sober up, okay? I want you drinking water now, whenever Rhodey gives it to you. Alfred and I are on the way to the airport and we’re gonna bring you home.” 

“Home?” 

“Yeah, you’ve always got a home here, Tones.” Bruce promises. “But I need you to stay awake and to drink water for me. I know everything sucks but I need you to get to me.” 

“Rhodey says we’re flying to the airport ‘n you’re gonna meet us.” 

“Yeah I am.” 

“ ‘kay…” Tony mumbles. “Drinking water now, Rhodey wants to talk to you.” 

“Ok, you give him the phone, you drink your water, and I’ll see you soon.” Bruce promises as he throws himself in the car and lets Alfred gun it. “Rhodes?” 

“Yeah, thanks Wayne… You’re alright, you know that?” 

“He good?” 

“Not good but he’s stable. He’ll hold in until we get there.” 

“How far out are you?” 

“About forty five minutes? Maybe an hour?” 

“Sober him up, see you when you land.” 

“See you.” 

*

Tony is sober enough when they land that by the time they get home Alfred insists on feeding him before they all return to bed. A quick breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast is served with water, juice or tea. Bruce doesn’t even allow the mention of coffee, he wants Tony to sleep for at least a few hours. From the look of things, Alfred agrees. The butler gives them a stern, concerned look before leading Rhodes down the hall, showing him to a bedroom on the other side of Tony’s reserved suite where he can rest. Tony, for his part, stumbles into Bruce’s chest and hardly moves, silently obedient as Bruce carefully nudges him up the stairs and into the master suite of rooms. 

Closing the door behind them Bruce pauses to strip off socks and his sweater, urging Tony to sit on the edge of the bed while he digs out spare clothes. That done he gently strips Tony out of what remains of his suit, tossing the clothing aside. It’s rumpled beyond all reason anyway, a few hours on the floor can’t do any further harm. Sober but an emotional wasteland, Tony remains stock-still as Bruce dresses him in worn sweats and a tee, then gently urges him under the covers of Bruce’s own bed. 

Tony immediately curls himself into a ball, clutching a spare pillow to his chest with a loud snuffle. Sighing softly, Bruce climbs in after him, rolling onto his side with his back pressed against the warmth of Tony’s spine. Like they were little he leans a little more, pressure against the shorter male’s back and shoulders until he feels Tony uncurl, pressing back against him. 

“I’m here Tony… I’m here.”

Tony makes a whimpering noise, and Bruce leans back against him, insistent and inexorable. "I'm right here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends as it began...


End file.
